


What we used to be (and whatever the hell we are now)

by fish_from_murderland



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Aziraphale and Crowley Met Before The Fall (Good Omens), Other, Pre-Canon, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 04:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20185984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fish_from_murderland/pseuds/fish_from_murderland
Summary: It is said that angels are beings of love, but only in the general sense, as in, an impersonal love for all things.That is incorrect.--------In the Beginning, there was an angel and an angel.One of the angel's name was Aziraphale, and the other's was not so important - it'll be forgotten soon anyway.And, had the word been invented, they would be calledsoulmates.





	What we used to be (and whatever the hell we are now)

**Author's Note:**

> I am immensely sorry about the footnotes, I really don't know to make them work.

It is said that angels are beings of love, but only in the general sense, as in, an impersonal love for all things.

That is incorrect.

~O.o.o.O~

In the Beginning, there were angels.

Each angel found a pair, another angel whose soul sang a complimentary melody, whom they gravitate toward. Another one whom they Loved above all else. And, had the word being invented, they would be called _soulmates_.

Those were the simple days at the dawn of Creation, though neither _day_ or _dawn_ existed yet.

~O.o.o.O~

In the Beginning, there was an angel and an angel.

One of the angels’ name was Aziraphale, and he was a Principality, though he had no idea what that had meant, nor what he was supposed to do. Nobody did1 – it hadn’t been invented yet. He did what many other angels like him did – running errands for the others, training,2 and occasionally, taking care of the prototypes of Creation.

The other angel’s name was not so important – it would soon be forgotten anyway. He laboured in the far-off corners of the universe, building the galaxies, hanging the stars. He worn the stardust with something akin to vanity, scattered around his form, until he was almost too bright to look at, too beautiful for even angel eyes.3

They were very different angels, with different Spheres and different friends, but they found each other anyway.

(If asked why, Aziraphale would tell you it’s Her ineffability. The other would simply shrug and mumble something unintelligible. But if you listened closely enough, it might amount to something to do with how his angel is _special._)

Those were the good days, the simple days, because not much has happened yet. Those were the times they will both remember with something almost akin to fondness, though they would never admit it.

~O.o.o.O~

The Almighty showed Her angels a new Creation called _man_, built in Her own image.

Some were outraged.

Some were delighted.

~O.o.o.O~

There was a Rebellion.

There was a war.

The Morningstar was cast out of heaven.

And along with him, many followed suit, wings burnt, haloes broken, Her Grace torn from their bodies.

It was called Falling.

_It was called pain._

~O.o.o.O~

In the vast halls4 of heaven, there was something new called _grief_.

Those who lost their pair mourned for them. Those who hadn’t were immensely, _immensely_ grateful.

Because Fallen means they are gone, erased from their existence as an angel of the Lord.

~O.o.o.O~

Amongst the angels, there was a new thing called _Sides_, called _good and evil_.

The Fallen are evil, they are the enemy, and we are good.

_Good will always triumph over evil, they say._ 5

~O.o.o.O~

What they did not discuss is the pain.

It was assumed that Downstairs invented it.

That is, strictly speaking, false.

They felt it too, the ones who remained. They too felt the hellfire, searing into their soul, burning through the line that connects them to their Fallen mate, until it could be barely felt anymore, leaving only the pain.

~O.o.o.O~

What they did not mention is the emptiness, the void left behind, when the fire had burned through, when the pain had faded to grey, and there was just _nothing_.

~O.o.o.O~

Somewhere in the vast halls of heaven, an angel was _sceptical._

His name was Aziraphale, and he thought, _how can they be truly gone when he had seen them land? How can they truly be gone when, if he tries hard enough, he can still sense their presence?_6

But that is ineffability, he supposed. And he did not voice those thoughts out loud, out of a fear of Falling, but also because Good angels are not meant to question God.

And he mourned too, for the one he lost, the one dearest to him.7

None of his other friends have Fallen, and he was nothing if not grateful for that.

~O.o.o.O~

More angels Fell, this time because they dared to question it, dared to wonder where the Fallen has gone, dared to voice it aloud.

They know, now.

The image of their falling figures, leaving behind great trails of fire, was burnt into Aziraphale’s mind, along with those thoughts he hadn’t dared to speak aloud.

~O.o.o.O~

They say that God made the earth in six days, and rested on the seventh.

That is too incorrect.

The “blueprints” of the world has been set out ages in advance, and besides, “day” is quite difficult to measure when it has barely been invented yet.

~O.o.o.O~

The Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, that’s who he is now.

And so he watched the Garden, watched the strange new thing called _man_ with a odd sort of fascination.

And he watched outside too, sight set on the vast wasteland outside Eden, and wondered.

~O.o.o.O~

Meanwhile, down Below, a new being called Crawly emerges from the flames and sulphur.

_Get up there and make some trouble,_ they tell him.

And so he does, slithers his way up into that place called Eden, right up to where the new thing called _man_ lives.

And he is oddly fascinated too, by the man, and the woman8 and that small, fragile slice of paradise.

~O.o.o.O~

It is said that demons remember nothing of their time in heaven.

That is, like many things humans think of the universe, wildly wrong.

Footnote

1Except God, but that’s different

2Though what for, they had not known

3They didn’t have eyes, not in the physical sense, but they could See

4No, not literal halls. Those haven’t been invented yet, though a prototype of architecture has in fact emerged.

5Of course, good and evil are, has always been, subjective

6Even the void counts for something, right?

7And it hurts, it hurts like _hell_

8And her, more so

**Author's Note:**

> Me doing a chapter fic is a bad idea. Updates will not be regular, but I'll try and update within two weeks.
> 
> My Tumblr is [here](https://dutchcementmixer.tumblr.com).
> 
> If you leave a kudos, comment or bookmark on my work, I will literally die for you.


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